Tin Can Titans

by John Wukovits

  Once assured that the Marines were securely ashore on Rice Anchorage, the force steamed up the New Georgia coast and left the northern entrance. Good fortune had once again blessed the crew of O’Bannon, as yet another mission had been completed without a single crew killed or injured.

  Then MacDonald’s TBS suddenly came alive with a frantic call for help. Moments earlier, aboard Strong, Lieutenant James A. Curran, the ship’s gunnery officer, had spotted a white phosphorescent wake heading toward the port side amidships. He started to alert the bridge, but an explosion cut him short and knocked men to the deck. Strong shook under the impact, lurched to port, and tilted fifteen degrees to starboard. The ship lost power, deck plates buckled from the impact, and water gushed through a gaping hole on the port side. A Long Lance torpedo from a Japanese destroyer an estimated eleven miles away, a distance no one thought possible, had inflicted the damage.

  Ainsworth ordered O’Bannon and Chevalier to assist the stricken Strong. Aboard Chevalier, Commander Ephraim R. McLean Jr. announced to his crew that they were turning back into the gulf. “We thought that this was going to be rough,” said Machinist’s Mate 1/c Burt Gorsline of going back to enemy-controlled waters. “The Japanese were really stirred up by now.”8 They returned to Kula Gulf to find Strong badly listing in the waters two miles west of Rice Anchorage, in the northern third of the gulf.

  Commander Joseph A. Wellings, Strong’s skipper, told his officers that when the destroyer’s list reached forty-five degrees, they should at that time make preparations to abandon ship, but not actually do it until ordered. He told his officers, though, that they were not to actually relay the order to the men until Wellings gave them the approval. He sent his executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Frederick W. Purdy, to take charge of abandoning the ship from the forecastle, but admonished him not to take any foolhardy risks and to get into the water before the ship sank. “Don’t worry about me, Captain,” said Purdy as he turned toward the forecastle.9

  As men aboard Strong scurried about the deck, MacDonald and McLean approached the stricken destroyer on opposite sides. MacDonald was inching O’Bannon along the starboard side to take off survivors when Chevalier, in moving closer to the damaged destroyer, rammed into Strong’s stern. The ship immediately listed to fifty degrees, making Wellings fear that the destroyer would break up and sink. Confusion spread about the forecastle, where some of the men appeared ready to leap over the side, but they stopped when Lieutenant (jg) Orivall M. Hackett, the torpedo officer, threatened to shoot anyone who tried to jump without his explicit orders. In the dark no one noticed that Hackett was not carrying a sidearm.

  Standing on the main deck, Lieutenant Donald A. Regan heard a tapping sound coming from the Number One engine room. He looked through an emergency hatch to find the room all but flooded. Feet from him stood Electrician’s Mate 2/c Willard G. Langley, pinned between a pipe and the main electric board, crying for help as he tried to keep his head above water. Regan held on to a three-foot piece of rope anchored by another man, grabbed Langley, and lifted him up from the hatch to the main deck.

  When Japanese land batteries targeted the trio, MacDonald positioned O’Bannon between the other two destroyers and the Japanese in an attempt to deflect fire from the damaged Strong. This bold move placed his ship within easy range of the enemy’s guns, and MacDonald would have to battle it out until Strong’s crew was rescued, all the while silhouetted against the bright backdrop provided by the burning Strong. Observing from his cruiser, and relieved that he had not earlier selected to travel on the other ship, which now appeared to be ready to sacrifice itself, Norton-Taylor watched shells splash near O’Bannon, “a target for Jap batteries, which now opened up with new fury, hoping to get another victim.”10 Neither the London bombings nor the November battle matched the peril MacDonald and his crew now faced.

  Near MacDonald, Lieutenant Pfeifer momentarily looked up as shells sang overhead and slammed into the water not more than fifty yards from the destroyer. Explosions hurled shrapnel that punctured holes in the superstructure, forcing MacDonald and others to take cover, and bullets whistled through the rigging. Japanese aircraft soon joined, dropping bombs and further illuminating the ship with flares.

  One man standing next to seventeen-year-old Soundman 3/c John H. Artesani mistook the flashes ashore as indicators that O’Bannon’s shells had struck their targets. Artesani wanted to tell him those flashes were the Japanese guns shooting at them, but the teenager was so frightened that he was unable to speak. “The Japs were shelling hell out of us,” said Ship’s Cook 1/c George Peterson. “They lit us up like a Christmas tree and we were sitting there dead in the water.”11

  Deck gun crews maintained a steady rhythm throughout, creating bright orange flashes ashore with their hits. “Never was O’Bannon in greater danger,” MacDonald wrote. “They gave us the works; we gave it back until their fire diminished.”12

  While MacDonald waged his battle to divert attention from Strong and Chevalier, men on the latter two ships continued their efforts to transfer the crew from the sinking ship. Chevalier’s bow was stuck in Strong’s stern, forming a large V that, for the moment, helped keep Strong afloat while rescue efforts continued. When Chevalier crew dropped cargo nets over the side and rigged two manila lines to Strong, Wellings ordered the crew to abandon ship. Lieutenant Hackett grabbed one line and Lieutenant Regan the other, and both held on for dear life while crew began crossing from the destroyer to her rescuer. Waters continued to add to Strong’s list as men scrambled to the forecastle to abandon ship. Crew belowdecks rose from hatches, and Wellings and other officers hurriedly checked the ship to make certain every living man was accounted for.

  With Strong low in the water and in danger of rolling over, McLean shouted across to Wellings, “Gus, I think everyone who was topside is either aboard, or in the water alongside. I better cast off and get out of here in a minute or two, before I am hit and crippled with all your men on board.”13 He started backing up at 1:20 a.m. as Japanese shells splashed near Chevalier’s fantail.

  McLean erred in assuming every man was off the ship. Lieutenant Commander Purdy joined Hackett and Regan at the forecastle, helping to get men over the side. As Purdy left to check on a wounded shipmate on the main deck, a man near Hackett shouted that the ship was going under. The waters closed about him so rapidly that Hackett did not even have to jump as the ship sank. Purdy never reached Chevalier or a life net; survivors found his body washed ashore on Arundel Island three days later.

  With the water rising to bridge level, Commander Wellings ordered Chief Quartermaster Maurice Rodrigos over the side, but Rodrigos refused to leave his skipper. Wellings took a last look around to make certain no one remained on the main deck, then told Rodrigos, “Let’s get off right now before we’re trapped inside when she rolls over.”14 By that time the waters had risen so high that the pair simply had to step into the water and swim away.

  Lieutenant (jg) Benjamin F. Jetton, communications officer, and Ensign William C. Hedrick Jr., assistant communications officer, ignored the risks to remain belowdecks in the passageway, placing secret and confidential documents into weighted bags and throwing them over the side, even after Wellings gave the abandon-ship order. The pair continued their task as the ship went down, giving their lives to ensure that no crucial information floated away from the ship into enemy hands.

  While men rushed over the side from the forecastle, Alabama’s football star, Lieutenant Miller, hurried to the main deck on the port side to help other men abandon ship, hoping with his presence to lend a calming influence. When Chevalier pulled away, Miller started to go over the side, but he halted when he spotted two men whose legs were pinned by the lines used to abandon ship. Ignoring the fast-moving waters, Miller moved closer and cut the two loose just as the waters swallowed him, and “the ship sank under our feet.”15

  The suction carried Miller and the two men downward. Miller held his breath as long as he could, shedding ev
ery piece of equipment possible, and finally reached the surface along with his companions. Moments later an underwater explosion numbed Miller to the waist. Three additional explosions followed that briefly knocked him senseless, but when he regained consciousness, he was still holding out of the water the heads of the men he had earlier rescued.

  In the water, Wellings and Rodrigos had flipped onto their backs to watch their ship as Strong broke in half and disappeared. The explosions from the depth charges rushed at the pair, knocking Wellings unconscious, but fortunately for the skipper, his life jacket kept his head above the surface. Aboard O’Bannon, MacDonald and others on the bridge were knocked about by the powerful explosion.

  Slowly, groups of men in the water gathered at a life net or in the ship’s gig. One group reached Kolombangara, and others made it to Arundel Island at the southern exit of Kula Gulf; most struggled in the waters before drowning or being rescued by another vessel. Commander Wellings regained consciousness as Rodrigos helped him to a floater net twenty-five yards away. Using their hands, the men at the net paddled throughout the night to reach Rice Anchorage, but they had difficulty battling through the gulf’s currents. Finally, shortly before dawn, the destroyer USS Gwin (DD-433) saw a flashlight that Rodrigos had been using to signal their location, and picked up the group.

  The sinking Strong dragged Lieutenant Hackett under the water, where he fought the suction and held his breath to reach the surface. Upon gulping fresh air, he grabbed an empty powder can attached to a floater net, where he found himself surrounded by men, some crying for help. Hackett was able to lift Miller, suffering internal injuries caused by the depth charge blast, into the net and administer morphine.

  After the depth charge explosions, MacDonald concluded that no one then in the water could have survived. Since Chevalier had also been damaged, he decided his first duty was to the crews of the two ships afloat and escorted Chevalier out of the gulf.

  Chevalier rescued 241 men from the Strong, with Ralph Talbot and Gwin plucking a few more from the waters, but forty-five men died and another sixty-one suffered wounds in the brief encounter. Still floating among the debris were groups of survivors, hoping to evade the dual threats posed by the Japanese and the sharks. Added to the loss of De Haven, Strong became the second Desron 21 destroyer to rest on the bottom.

  “Willing to Lay Down Their Lives”

  MacDonald and O’Bannon had again avoided harm, but a message indicating that another installment of the Tokyo Express was barreling south toward Kula Gulf returned MacDonald and the force to the scene. O’Bannon and Nicholas, joined along the way by Radford and Jenkins, accompanied Helena, Honolulu, and St. Louis to intercept ten Japanese destroyers.

  Ainsworth adhered to the battle tactics that frustrated MacDonald and every destroyer commander. Shortly before 2:00 a.m. destroyer radar screens lit up with blips indicating two groups of enemy ships under Rear Admiral Teruo Akiyama bringing 2,600 troops and supplies to New Georgia. Ainsworth formed into the familiar single column, posting Nicholas and O’Bannon at the van while Jenkins and Radford trailed behind the three cruisers. He ordered the rear destroyers to join the cruisers and fire at the transport unit while Nicholas and O’Bannon targeted three screening Japanese destroyers.

  Off Kolombangara, Ainsworth waited until he had closed to within seven thousand yards of the Japanese to open fire. Salvos from Radford hit Amagiri amidships, sinking the flagship, and other shells screamed into Niizuki. “If the s.o.b. wants a fight, we’ll give him a fight,” barked Lieutenant Commander Hill of Nicholas.16

  Akiyama counterpunched with his Long Lance torpedoes. Aboard St. Louis, Norton-Taylor watched a torpedo churning directly at the ship; later the correspondent described it as “a thick white finger coming straight at us like a chalk line drawn across a blackboard.”17 A signalman shouted the alarm and everyone braced for the hit, but it proved to be a dud.

  In a three-minute span shortly after the firing began, three Long Lance torpedoes smashed into Helena and sliced off her bow. As sailors rushed to abandon the flooding vessel, she split in half and began settling, disappearing beneath the surface forty minutes later.

  MacDonald’s crew had forged tight bonds with Helena. Not only had they participated in numerous actions together, but their crews had often associated at Tulagi, Espiritu Santo, and Noumea. O’Bannon men proudly wore the nickname “Little Helena,” bestowed on them by officers and enlisted in the South Pacific, and some of the crew considered the cruiser an honorary member of their squadron. That cruiser’s sailors now needed help, and O’Bannon men begged MacDonald to be included in the rescue attempt, even though they were by then almost out of ammunition and under orders to return to Tulagi.

  “Captain,” said a man who approached MacDonald on the bridge, “we want to go back after the men of the Helena. They are our buddies. They’ve always taken care of us.” Moved by that and similar pleas, MacDonald spoke to the crew over the loudspeaker, explained the perils of remaining in Japanese-controlled waters, and asked if they were certain they wanted to risk their lives to retrieve Helena crew from the water. When the crew shouted its assent, MacDonald signaled Ainsworth: “The officers and men of the O’Bannon, with full awareness of the hazard, request permission to return to pick up survivors of the Helena.” Ainsworth’s denial disappointed MacDonald, but he was never more proud of his men than at that moment. “It was a happy moment of my life. Men have to be great to be willing to lay down their lives for their fellow men.”18 Ainsworth handed the rescue efforts to Nicholas and Radford while O’Bannon continued to Tulagi.

  When Hill and Nicholas arrived at the scene, only Helena’s bow protruded from the water. On Radford, Commander Romoser carefully maneuvered his destroyer toward the bow, in the process passing close to survivors waving and yelling for help. “In the white light they looked like a school of black fish thrashing around in the phosphorescence,” Romoser explained to Norton-Taylor. “They gave us a cheer and I ordered two boats lowered and they began swarming into them. Many of them had knives in their teeth. They were not certain of our identity and they were prepared to fight for their lives if my ship had turned out to be a Jap.”19

  To avoid panic among the survivors, Romoser shouted instructions through a megaphone to remain calm and slowly maneuver toward the ship. Enemy vessels in the gulf twice interrupted the rescue attempt, but each time Romoser returned to pick up additional survivors. He remained in the area until McInerney in Nicholas decided to extract the ships before dawn brought swarms of enemy aircraft.

  Crews scrubbed the survivors to remove the grime and oil that clung to their faces and clothing, and cooks provided a continuous supply of hot coffee. When Nicholas and Radford returned to Tulagi, men standing on the decks of anchored ships cheered the two destroyers for their efforts in rescuing eight hundred fellow sailors.

  In Kula Gulf, 165 Helena survivors drifted to Japanese-held Vella Lavella Island, northwest of Kolombangara. When coastwatchers radioed the news to Guadalcanal that a large group of Americans was hiding in those jungles, Ainsworth arranged a rescue operation. At a conference aboard Nicholas attended by MacDonald, Ainsworth ordered one group of destroyer transports and their escorting destroyers, including Taylor, to retrieve the men, while four of McInerney’s destroyers—O’Bannon, Nicholas, Radford, and Jenkins—remained farther out to engage any Japanese warships in the area. “Our job was tough,” said MacDonald, “but the O’Bannon was willing to do anything to get those boys back.”20

  Late in the afternoon of July 15 the quartet left Tulagi for Vella Lavella. Three hours later, Taylor and three destroyers departed with the two destroyer transports. MacDonald chose his words carefully when addressing the crew upon entering the Slot: “Tonight we are going on a mission that might be called dangerous. I hope we will not see any action tonight. This is one night we are not looking for any trouble.”21

  Japanese aircraft descended on the quartet throughout the night. “We had to maneuver nearly all
night in a black sea,” said MacDonald, “while Japanese airplanes overhead circled us like vultures, dropping bomb after bomb. They are great pyrotechnicians and their flares made us visible again and again.” He added, “I think it was the worst night we ever spent, because we couldn’t do much about the attack.” Despite those risks, his men “stayed through that night like steel.”22

  When they arrived off Vella Lavella, deck lookouts joined radar and sonar crews in searching the waters and beaches for the enemy. The transport group evaded Japanese contact by hugging the Vella Lavella coast, but MacDonald operated farther from shore to draw enemy fire while the transports moved in to rescue the Helena survivors. The ploy worked, as the transport group, which included Lieutenant Commander Benjamin J. Katz in Taylor, removed the 165 survivors from Vella Lavella’s northeast coast.

  In the Battle of Kula Gulf, Ainsworth sank two Japanese destroyers but lost a light cruiser and failed to prevent the enemy from landing reinforcements. Ainsworth again shackled the destroyers to his cruisers instead of employing them as an independent force. In a letter to Halsey one week later, Nimitz wondered if Ainsworth’s force was too large for proper maneuvering in the tight area, and asked Halsey if the destroyers should be trained to act as a separate unit. “I am convinced that if studied consideration is given to the employment of destroyers by divisions, or better by squadrons, we shall get better results.”23

  For their actions, both Nicholas and Radford received a Presidential Unit Citation, which is granted when a crew performs above and beyond the norm, and O’Bannon added another page to an already sparkling record that would eventually result in a similar citation. Navy Crosses went to Lieutenant Commander Hill of Nicholas, Commander Romoser, Lieutenant Commander MacDonald, and Captain McInerney, and posthumous Silver Stars to Lieutenant Jetton and Ensign Hedrick. Strong survivors, hoping to keep their ship’s name and spirit alive, petitioned the Navy to build another ship bearing the same name and man it with the surviving crew and officers.